


Threads

by romanticalgirl



Category: Solomon & Gaenor
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>freeing stitches and then making them anew, closing the gap in the fabric with skilled hands</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threads

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://ioan-ficathon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ioan-ficathon.livejournal.com/)**ioan_ficathon** challenge
> 
> Originally posted 5-10-06

Solomon’s fingers run carefully over the neckline of the dress, the tips of them brushing Gaenor’s collarbone. She shivers, her eyes closed tightly as he walks around her. His hands drop down her back and then to the sides, checking the seams. She suppresses a soft laugh as he traces her sides down to her hips then back up again. She stretches her arms out to her sides and he traces along the underside of them to her hands, pausing to thread his fingers through hers as he rests his forehead against her hair.

They stand silently, bodies flush together, fingers locked. He inhales the smell of hay and wind from her hair and then pulls away slowly, his hands moving over her arms up to the seam of the shoulders. He bends his head and presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, feeling her shiver again against his lips.

Swallowing hard, he pulls back slowly and circles to the front of her again, fingers trailing, touching, unable to leave the soft cotton that conforms to his touch. He stops in front of her and settles his hands on her waist just above her hips, smoothing over the darts that lead him to her breasts, thumbs tracing upward to the curve of them, the hard tip of her nipples pressed against the fabric.

“Sam,” she breathes, the question in her voice, on her parted lips.

He bends his head again and finds her mouth with his own, his tongue sliding into the warm silk of it. His hands shift their grip on her breasts, curving around the sweep of them, thumbs and fingers sliding and caressing as she steps closer, the sway of the skirt ruffling the hay beneath their feet.

She lifts her arms and there’s a soft rending of fabric and he pulls away, his dark eyes distraught. His glance runs over the dress to the seam beneath her arm and he shakes his head. “I’ll have to fix it.” He reaches down for the skirt, slowly lifting it. “Careful of the pins.”

Shivering as he guides the dress up her body, Gaenor watches him with an expression he dares not read. He curves his hands to her waist, pausing there against the well-worn cloth of her petticoat before pushing the dress up further, carefully slipping it up over her head, his fingers soothing the pins away from her skin as he eases her free, turning the dress inside out and laying it on the corded bale of hay beside them.

“I’ll let that part out,” he assures her, sitting next to the dress, pulling a small package from his pocket. She watches him, still shivering slightly, as his fingers work free needle and thread, easing pins from the fabric. His fingers move quickly, deftly, freeing stitches and then making them anew, closing the gap in the fabric with skilled hands, his long, delicate fingers caressing the dress as if it was still spread over her skin.

She moves closer to him, her hands resting on his shoulders, letting the movement of his arms change the shift of her grip, her thumbs gliding over muscle and sinew. Solomon stops for a moment, inhaling sharply before setting the dress aside, tilting his head. She lets her hands fall away as he turns to face her. “The dress can wait, can it not?”

He nods slowly and stands, his hands now skimming her waist as she slowly unhooks the stays of her corset. His hands curve down to her petticoats, untying the ribbon at her waist as she takes off the corset, her breath catching in time with his as her slip falls away.

“Sam…” Her fingers shake as she pushes his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall on the hay as well, unregarded, as her hands move back, tugging his shirt free of his pants, guiding it over his head. He takes it from her as her hands go back to his chest, sliding her palms over his undershirt, feeling the heat beneath it. He shudders at her touch and reaches out, his hands skimming her waist as he finds the hem of her undershirt and eases it off of her, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze.

He does not speak as he bows his head, his mouth capturing the peaked tip of her nipple, his tongue bathing it as he suckles it gently. She makes a soft sound, her fingers threading through his dark curls as he pulls his head away, the cool air of the barn filtering through the sweet heavy scent of the hay and tightening her damp skin.

His hands are firm yet gentle as he guides her onto the blanket, sweeping down her back to the curve of her buttocks, kneading the flesh beneath her thin underclothes. He pulls back, sitting up enough to tug his undershirt over his head and let it fall away, the wild spray of his curls haloing his head in the dying afternoon light.

Leaning in to her, he presses a soft kiss to her parted lips. “You will look lovely in my dress,” he whispers as he sinks between her legs, the worn fabric of his trousers against the silk white skin of her thighs, “but never so lovely as you look right now.”

A high blush stains her cheeks and she shakes her head until he captures her in a kiss, lowering himself on top of her, one hand supporting him as other trails along her body, searching for the seams and threads that hold her together to undo them with his skillful fingers. She pushes him away with a smile and reaches for his pants, undoing the button clumsily until he takes over, pushing his slacks down as she strips away her under things.

He settles against her again, both of them breathless with anticipation and the ghost of laughter, eyes bright with passion and promise. She whispers his name and he hears the truth in the lie of the word as he guides himself inside her, sealing their silent promise with a kiss.  



End file.
